A Legend of Their Own
by Agent Goodwrench
Summary: Ophelia suffered betrayal after betrayal, leaving her outlook on the world rather grim. In her quest to unite the land, she will have to come face to face with herself and earn the loyalty of her companions. Mainly F!Cousland/Leliana.
1. Pints and Blood

_Here's my attempt at a multi-chaptered story which follows the events of DA:O. I'll try keeping it as close to the lore and canon as possible, though there will be some noticeable differences, such as the appearances of the potential Wardens from all of the origins, in roles of varying import. The main focus will be my F!Cousland, Ophelia, and her relationship with Leliana. M!Amell will also have some noticeable presence. Constructive criticism is much appreciated._

_I own nothing that isn't mine. :P_

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><p>Red sun shone over the village of Lothering, slowly calling out for the shadows of night to consume the settlement. Refugees cluttered the streets, setting up makeshift camps wherever they could while the vigilant templars looked over them from distance, standing proud as ever. Even now, while the Blight slowly creeps towards them, the templars dare not to abandon their duty and run.<p>

Some refugees covered at the sight of approaching new arrivals. The two men and two women, along with a large mabari, had just slaughtered some bandits who demanded a "toll" before they would let these travelers pass. It was a foolish waste of life on the ruffians' part.

The man in heavy armor scanned the village. "Lothering. Pretty as a painting."

"A painting that's about to be thrown into a fireplace." A young woman next to him replied.

Ophelia Cousland was a warrior. Proud, with raging fire behind her garnet eyes. Not older than twenty, but experienced and crazy enough to find herself recruited into the ranks of the fabled Gray Wardens, the slayers of darkspawn. The Wardens did not recruit out of pity. Not that she needed pity from them of all people. After all, she did not join by choice.

A member for less than a week and she already found herself leading the order. The order which now consisted of possibly the last two surviving Wardens in all of Ferelden. It was impossible for her to imagine that the Hero of River Dane, the great Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, would turn his back on the king's army at Ostagar. The resulting carnage and the death of King Cailan, not to mention the Wardens, brought fear to the heart of many a Fereldan. Loghain had destroyed the only hope Ferelden had of overcoming the Blight that was already knocking on it's doorstep.

Perhaps there still was a chance to turn their luck around, but how much could two novices possibly do? Neither she, nor Alistair had any knowledge on what a true Gray Warden was supposed to do in such situation. They had ancient treaties signed by the Circle of Magi, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Dalish elves, but how exactly were the two of them supposed to slay a bloody Archdemon that led the darkspawn horde? One can't just poke a corrupted dragon hard enough until it falls. There had to be a catch of sorts. Andraste's flaming sword, there's always a catch somewhere.

"So what do you think? Ophelia?"

Ophelia found herself surrounded by the stares of her companions. She must have drifted off for a few minutes, unable to recall a single thing Alistair had said.

"Sorry."

"You did not miss much. Alistair had just decided 'twas was not worth falling on his sword in grief." Morrigan remarked.

"Is me being upset so hard to understand? Duncan was like a father to me," Alistair retorted, "What would you do if your mother died?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?" The witch responded in a cheery tone.

"Right, very creepy. Forget I asked anything."

Ah yes, Morrigan's mother. It was she who had saved Ophelia and Alistair from the battle of Ostagar. Flemeth. The Witch of the Wilds. A myth prevented them from becoming two more corpses on the battlefield. For an all-powerful witch, it seems the Blight was a danger even to her. Why else would she need the Wardens so desperately and risk her own life to save them? That also must have been why she insisted her daughter come with them as well.

Morrigan was as shifty as apostates go, but her knowledge of the wilds and herbs, along with her magical talents, proved invaluable. In addition, her cooking was a huge improvement over Alistair's. Antivan poisons were not nearly as potent.

"So, as I was saying," Alistair coughed, eying Morrigan, "we need a plan."

"We need to get drunk, that's what wee need." Dorrian, the Circle mage, said resolutely.

"Can't believe I'm agreeing with the coward, but yes, I'm in a terrible need to get drunk." Ophelia groaned at her memories of the recent events. If anything warranted to get drunk over, it was that.

Alistair's protests were swiftly cut when Ophelia ordered them to move. As far as she was concerned, the betrayal at Ostagar was her lesser problem. There was a matter of far more delicate happening. A betrayal worse than the one that left hundreds of men dead and their nation weakened. The betrayal of her family. All of it seemed like one never-ending nightmare. She didn't even want to think of it anymore. The drinks better be real strong.

Unlike her other companions, Dorrian Amell had no personal stakes in their journey. She wasn't even sure what he was doing at Ostagar in the first place. He claimed to be one of the mages sent by the Circle to assist the king's men, but something just didn't seem right about him. Dorrian also aided the two Wardens in lighting the fire, signaling Loghain's men to flank the enemy, before darkspawn caught up to them. The mage fled, leaving Alistair and Ophelia to their fates. He was later found by Morrigan, blindly stumbling towards Flemeth's hut with a darkspawn arrow sticking out of his back. Like the Wardens, he recovered, only to be greeted by Ophelia's fist. Despite the disagreements, he had joined them, even shamelessly admitting he did so for personal gain. A favor from the king or queen of Ferelden would go a long way for a mage, he said.

Ophelia did not trust him and followed his every move. It was a task made easier by another pair of eyes belonging to her loyal mabari, Rabbit. Rabbit was loyalty personified. He would gladly fight a high dragon to protect his mistress. The hound could be surprisingly subtle as well. Subtlety he used to his advantage to cause much mischief back home in Highever. However, Rabbit regarded the mage with curiosity more than anything.

Dorrian picked off the tavern in the midst of numerous other wooden buildings. It wasn't much to look at, like most of the houses around it. If they're lucky, it won't be overfilled with folk out to drown their sorrows. Dorrian followed the Wardens, a spring in each step. It has been some time since he had a decent pint.

Before they managed to pass the chantry, a doe-eyed, dark-haired girl collided with the mage, scattering what belongings she had in her hands.

"Whoa! Watch it sunshine."

"I'm sorry," her face reddened in embarrassment.

"No harm done. You from around here, pretty?" Dorrian leaned in and offered the girl his hand, a gesture she seemed wary of, but accepted nonetheless. The entire time, his eyes were firmly set on the girl's bosom, much to Ophelia's chagrin. Her low-cut blouse did put a fair emphasis on the cleavage, though it's not like the mage wouldn't try to stare a hole trough her clothes if she covered more skin.

"Um, you could say so." The girl backed away slightly.

"You wouldn't fancy helping a group of weary travelers, now would you?"

"I'm afraid I can't help." she said, quickly gathering the items she dropped before abruptly stopping. "Unless... Did you come from Ostagar?"

"And if we did?" Ophelia interjected.

"By any chance, have you seen any other survivors on the way here?"

"Can't say that we have, pretty."

"Ah," The hope in her eyes became nearly extinguished and the color of her rosy cheeks drained, "I see then..."

"Family?" Ophelia's voice shook with the question.

"Yes. My brother, Carver, had the brilliant idea to run off and join the army and my older sister went along so he wouldn't end up killing himself."

"I know how it's like. My brother was there as well. But don't you worry..."

"Bethany." The girl said.

"Don't you worry, Bethany. I'm sure they will be fine." For all she knew, the girl's brother and sister could be dead. For all she knew, she was lying. But is painful truth better than hopeful uncertainty? More the reason to get to the tavern as fast as possible.

"Thank you, but I must go. It's getting late and mother must be worried. May the Maker watch over you."

"I'm sure he has matters of bigger importance." Ophelia snapped, herself surprised at the anger in her voice. The girl didn't deserve it.

"Don't mind her, pretty," Dorrian cut in, "Run along now. You best leave Lothering as soon as you can." He patted Bethany on the back, sending the girl on her way. She was very much his type: slender, innocent, and a proud owner of a pair of luscious breasts. Certainly worth deflowering, had they had more time to spend in Lothering. Blasted Blight, why couldn't it choose to torment Anderfels again? Nobody goes there anyway.

Alistair and the witch were at it yet again, this time chatting about their mothers all the while taking pot shots at one another. It was a thing they did since leaving Flemeth's hut. An instinctive urge to get on each others nerves. It was amusing to watch really, more interesting than the Circle templars riling up unfortunate apprentices anyway. These two had style.

At last, they reached the tavern, thankfully without bumping into another unfortunate villager on the way. Ophelia pushed open the door, inhaling the smell of alcohol almost immediately. A few residents turned to observe the new arrivals, while most remained nose-deep in their tankards or chatted away. Ophelia's glare quickly made them mind their own business.

To her surprise there were some empty tables amidst the otherwise bustling business day. Dorrian immediately used the opportunity to lean in his chair, throwing his boots up on the table. Morrigan shoved her fellow mage's feet with her staff, knocking them off the wooden surface.

"And they claim to be civilized," The witch snorted, setting down her pack at the leg of a chair. Rabbit came sniffing just a moment later before being shooed away. Nevertheless, he persisted until Morrigan threatened to set his fur on fire, after which the dog ran back to the feet of his mistress who was ordering the drinks, nearly knocking her over. She scolded him all the way to their table.

"Enjoy." Ophelia said, passing the tankards to her companions. Morrigan was at first against the idea of drinking the swill from a filthy tavern, but after some persuasion from Alistair, settled for mead. The templar was quietly nursing his ale, paying little attention to Dorrian beside him, who was gulping down beer like there was no tomorrow. Ophelia didn't even know what she had, nor did she care. She ordered the strongest thing they had, and by Andraste, it will do it's job. Just as she was about to bring the liquid to her lips, a strong hand pulled down on her wrist, slamming the tankard into the table.

"Well well, look what we have here."

Ophelia looked up to meet the delightful company of armed soldiers who were now surrounding their table from nearly every side. They were led by a determined looking fellow. Possibly of Rivaini descent, just like Dorrian, as indicated by his darker skin.

"Uh-oh, Logain's men. This can't be good." Alistair proclaimed trough clenched teeth.

A man in a helmet spoke to the commander aside. "Didn't we spend the entire day asking about a woman of this very description, and everyone said they haven't seen her?"

The leader nodded, eying every soul in the tavern who wasn't with him with disgust, "It seems we were lied to."

"Gentlemen, surely there's no need for trouble," A sweet Orlesian voice interrupted the confrontation. It was a chantry sister. A beautiful woman with orange-red hair and enchanting blue eyes, and every word uttered from her lips was like a song to Ophelia's ears, unlike the few Orlesians she met before.

One of the soldiers approached her, aggressively pushing her away from the table. "Stay out of this sister. You protect these traitors; you die with them."

"Listen to the fine bloke over there. It'd be a shame for such a fair lass as yourself to be hurt in an incident like this." Dorrian chimed in, all the while making cute eyes at the sister.

"Amell. Shut it. You too sister." The Warden commanded, turning back to the leader of the bounty hunters, intent on showing him just how bad his decision to interrupt her was. That is before she was called a traitor. "Listen, and listen well: Loghain betrayed your king. If you do not wish to accept that and instead continue with your disingenuous assertions, I promise, this will end in no way good for you."

"Teyrn Loghain-" The mention of _teyrn_ alongside the betrayer's name was enough to cause the girl to jump up from her seat and drive her forearm into the commander's throat, effectively pinning him against the wall. He struggled, attempting to push the enraged warrior off, but to no avail.

His men begun unsheathing their swords, but Ophelia's companions were a step ahead. Rabbit lunged at the nearest threat, sinking his powerful jaws into the soft flesh of the neck, and Dorrian was already swinging a chair at two other soldiers, keeping them at bay. He was itching to strike them down with lightning instead, though the situation made that option undesirable. They didn't need to add templars to their troubles.

Alistair and Morrigan worked surprisingly well as a team, even without the witch's magic. The staff gave her a great reach, and soon one of the men was laying face down on the floor, blood gushing from his broken nose. Alistair deflected a blow meant for the witch with his shield, allowing her to strike out at her attacker and hit him in the groin. As the soldier doubled over from the incredible pain, Alistair grimaced. _That is definitely going to leave a mark_.

Struggling to push the madwoman off him, the commander attempted to reach for his blade, before Ophelia delivered a thunderous headbutt, knocking him down to the ground. When he attempted to get up, a large mabari charged him, aiming for a soldier coming to aid his superior. The impact of Rabbit's muscular chest against the commander's head left the man dazed.

One of soldiers attempted to attack Ophelia from behind; something the sister wouldn't allow. She twisted the soldier's arm behind his back, causing him to drop the knife, before promptly driving his head down on the wooden table the four strangers sat at, spilling the contents of their tankards all over the surface. Another soldier swung a sword at the sister but missed when Ophelia pulled her out of the harm's way and an incoming airborne chair. The construct exploded into pieces when it hit the man in the back. The force of impact knocked him into the wall, while an amused mage watched from afar, his boot planted on top of a defeated foe's back.

Roughly half a dozen men laid dead or beaten to the inch of their lives. Dorrian wasn't sure which one was worse, looking over the bloodied and the broken. Their own mothers wouldn't recognize them in such state. He then looked over at their leader who will soon face the wrath of Ophelia Cousland.

"Wait! We surrender!" The commander's voice shook in trepidation as he desperately attempted to crawl away from the Warden.

Ophelia's lips formed a deranged smirk, "You don't say."

She reached for an elaborate silverite dagger strapped to her hip, removing it from its sheath. The seal of house Cousland decorated the hilt. It was an enchanted blade, still fresh out of the forge. A gift from her brother before he left for Ostagar.

Ophelia crept towards the man, set on slitting the bastard's throat, when the sister seized her hand in protest. " Stop. They pose no danger anymore."

"Save it sister! Some men just aren't worth of mercy."

"It isn't right to murder them in cold blood."

"Hah! If you have a chance to deal with a potential problem, do it, lest it returns to stab you in the back."

The commander tried to use the disagreement to his advantage and bolted for the door. He was nearly there when a sharp pain in his back caused him to fall on his knees. Ophelia walked over and removed the blade from his back, whispering into his ear, "It hurts, doesn't?"

Taking a handful of the man's hair, she yanked his head back and proceeded to casually drag the blade across his throat. Blood fountained from the cut, painting the floor and a nearby wall in a deep red hue. The body heaved slightly, before falling with a loud thud, while the redheaded sister watched in horror. Silence gained rule over the establishment. The patrons studied the forms of the dead, unwilling to turn their eyes to the violent woman.

The Warden walked over to Dorrian. The floorboards screamed underneath her steps, adding another layer of unease to the chilling scene. Ophelia wiped her dagger on the fabric of his Chasind robes, causing the mage to frown. He really liked those. They were comfortable and easy to move in, much better than the rags they wore in the Circle.

Ophelia sheathed the dagger. "Let's get out of here before more trouble shows up."

"Aw. They spilled all my beer..." Dorrian complained to no one in particular. His thirst was only barely sated before Loghain's lackeys showed, and now they had to leave. Fantastic.

They immediately collected their packs and were on their way, but not before Ophelia tossed some extra coin to the owner, apologizing for the mess. Alistair and the two mages tip-toed around the large puddle of blood, but Ophelia just waded straight trough it. Anger was the only thing at her mind. The fact that Loghain was not hanged upon his return to the capital, was inexcusable.

No more than several seconds after they left the tavern, the chantry sister burst out with a small rucksack of her own. Ophelia stared at the woman, attempting to figure out what sort of madness was she up to.

"You are the Gray Wardens, no? My name is Leliana and I will be coming with you," she uttered with utmost confidence.

Ophelia thought she had been hearing things after that headbutt. She continued to stare at the sister as if she just fallen from the moon, unable to even protest. Finally, she was able to muster some semblance of speech and force the words out. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Maker's breath, she needed that drink bad.


	2. Campsite

_Now this has been a while, wasn't it? I'm not proud it took me this long to finish the second chapter, but life's schedule can get prety hectic at times. I'm sure you're not here to read my rambling, so let's get started shall we? As always, I'm eager for constructive criticism, so if you have some, please do send it this way. ;)_

_Blah, blah, I own nothing, blah, the usual blah..._

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><p>Her hands were tightly clutched by those of her mother. Tears welled up in in the eyes of the older woman, the lines of her face accentuating her grief. She told the young girl to run. Ophelia refused, shaking her head wildly. <em>This isn't happening. It can't be.<em>

Her wounded father nearby begged her to leave, pleading trough long-drawn gasps. Blood leaked out of the sword wound in his abdomen no matter how he tried to cover it. His hands were washed in the red fluid, as were her own. Ophelia's eyes were blinded by tears streaming down her face, and she refused once again, attempting to put some pressure on her father's deadly injury. It didn't do much good. The wound was far too severe. She never felt so useless before in her life.

The Gray Warden, Duncan, called out to her. Ophelia ignored him. He did so again, this time forcibly turning her around to face him. "We have to go, girl," he commanded.

"No! I won't leave them!" Ophelia cried, pushing the older man away.

Duncan seized Ophelia by the shoulders and brought her face closer to his."Do not be foolish. There is nothing you can do."

"You dared to make demands of my father whilst he's dying! I'd rather die fighting than leave anywhere with you!" She spat in the Wardens face. Duncan frowned, but remained cool headed.

The nerve it took to press the Teyrn of Highever to give away his daughter into the servitude of the Wardens in return for help. Never before she had felt such anger build up within her. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened the already iron grip on her parents' hands.

Sounds of the battle outside loudened. The guards made their final stand against Howe's men. She could hear Ser Gilmore shouting orders amidst the chaotic struggle, desperately attempting to hold their ground despite being severely outmatched.

"Go, pup..." Her father groaned, squinting in pain.

Before she even had a chance to respond, Duncan grabbed her by the back of the neck. Unable to break from his strong hold, Ophelia cursed him as he led her trough the secret passage out of the larder. Normally, her mabari would bite into anyone who would attempt what Duncan did, but even Rabbit knew what was best for her. Still, it felt wrong leaving her family at Howe's mercy like that. A quick death is the most merciful thing that might happen to them. And the least likely.

She could hear the screams of her parents in the distance. The defense perimeter was breached and those bloodthirsty monsters were undoubtedly eager to get their claws on the Teyrn and Teyrna. There was nothing she could do. Ophelia shut her eyes tightly, still not wanting to believe this nightmare to be real.

Ophelia awakened, her heart beating rapidly. Cold sweat poured down her forehead and down her chest. Rabbit was nudging his head into her ribs in a futile attempt to calm her. Thankful as she was, it wasn't going to stop these nightmares any time soon. Every night since the attack on Highever, her sleep was plagued by the faces of her loved ones.

It was an early morning. A very early morning, as the darkness all round implied. They had decided to spend the night in the woods after walking for hours on end, with Ophelia pushing them hard. Redcliffe was was close; maybe a day of walk from their current rest stop. A few hours. That's all the time she will give her companions to sleep and eat, before forcing them back on the road. With the help of Arl Eamon, she will bring Loghain and Howe to justice.

She met the Arl before, when she visited Redcliffe with her father. He seemed like a descent kind of man, well loved by his people. Now, rumor has it he was 'ill'. First it was her family and now Eamon. How very convenient for some of the most powerful people in Ferelden to be taken out of the picture. Loghain's strongest opposition was now gone and Howe's involvement couldn't have been just a coincidence. Ophelia wouldn't be surprised if that snake's venom was the cause of Arl Eamon's illness.

But enough of that for now. She had to focus on the bright part. Now they were traveling with a possibly insane chantry sister, a murdering Qunari, and a pair of dwarves. The elder, Bodahn seemed nice enough, but it was his son, Sandal, who sent shivers down her spine. He reminded her of the Tranquil, the way he talks and stares at her emptily. After meeting one of them in Denerim, she would rather not repeat the pleasure.

The dwarves mostly kept to themselves, as did Sten the Qunari. Leliana on the other hand, drew the attention of Alistair and Dorrian, like honey did bees. Men. Morrigan was right, bat an eyelash and you have them wrapped around your finger. Even Rabbit took a liking to the sister. For all his loyalty, a tasty snack from a friendly stranger turns the dog into a doormat.

Sten didn't even bother to turn when she got up. He continued to watch the flickering flames of the campfire, poking it every now and then to keep the heat up. Alistair, who was supposed to be keeping watch alongside him, sat by a tree, snoring up a hurricane. _Good job, Alistair! Fall asleep next to a man who slaughtered an entire family with his bare hands. No danger in that, surely._

Frankly, as much as wished to rub that in Alistair's face, the Qunari did not seem like the type to turn on them just like that. He seemed genuinely interested in the Blight and the murders were not something he was proud of. After all, why else would he wait at the scene of the crime to be apprehended? Sten did not reveal the reasoning behind his foul deed, but it's something that should come in it's own time. For now, another blade between her and the darkspawn was quite welcome.

"You tossed about in your sleep," he stated, still watching the fire. Sten was always to the point. You were either worth his time or you were not.

"Darkspawn dreams," she lied, "All Wardens get those. It takes some time getting used to."

Sten did not answer. Perhaps he knew she did not speak the truth. She wouldn't known. Qunari were puzzling people. It was impossible to tell what could be on Sten's mind for he wore the same expression day and night. If someday, a smile graces that frowning face of his, it might crack and fall apart. Now that would be a sight to behold.

Ophelia left the fireside and just wandered around the camp. She never spent much time out in the wild before. It was an interesting experience. Sleeping under the starry skies; birds announcing the coming of morning with their song. There was some comfort in the beauty of nature around her.

"Can't sleep either, huh."

Hastily turning, Ophelia found herself face to face with Leliana, wrapped up in a thick blanket. The gust of chilly autumn winds penetrated her layer of warmth nonetheless, causing the girl to shudder.

"You'll get used to that." Ophelia passed by her, barely acknowledging the redhead's presence. She mostly ignored Leliana since they put Lothering behind them. Her past conversations with the Chantry folk never proved to be productive or pleasant.

"What is it that irks you about me so much?" Leliana asked, her blue eyes glimmering in the light of the far-off flames.

"It's not you, it's what you represent. Though you are annoyingly persistent."

"There are many good men and women in the Chantry who have sacrificed much to devote their lives to the Maker and help others."

Ophelia scoffed, "Yet their turn their backs on anyone who refuses to follow their dogma."

"Try not to paint us all with the same brush," the sister raised her voice ever so slightly.

The Warden sighed, "Don't mind me, I'm just being foolish."

Leliana was right. She felt so stupid for her hasty overgeneralization. There were indeed good fellows who followed the Maker's path, and she had no right to insist every single one of them was like persons of less desirable attitude she had previously encountered. Back home, Mother Mallol, or simply Mallol, as she preferred to be called, never turned Ophelia away despite the young lass' rebellious attitude. Mallol's patience put her own to shame. Whenever she was angry or upset, the priestess brought some comfort to Ophelia's heart. No prayers were needed. Her understanding alone was enough.

"So, this vision of yours..." Ophelia queried, mite curious about the sister's tale. A change of topic wouldn't hurt either.

"You doubt my vision, do you?"

"Let's just say, I believe that you believe in it."

"So you think I'm insane then?" Leliana tilted her head, causing Ophelia to emit a barely audible chuckle. The girl reminded her of her mabari when she did this. She looked rather cute too, though Ophelia quickly purged the thought from her head before she had a chance to blush.

"I'm beginning to think insanity is a prerequisite of being a part of this group. Each of us is crazy in our own way." Ophelia yawned, stretching her arms toward the sky. "A camp-full of armed lunatics; that's exactly what Ferelden needs in her darkest hour. "

"Things might look bleak, but I trust the Maker will guide us trough this."

"I'm going to guide myself, thank you very much. I need no, what was it Morrigan called him...?" Ophelia twisted her face thoughtfully before snapping her fingers in remembrance, "Ah yes, 'absentee father figure' to show me the way. Don't get me wrong, everyone has the right to believe in whatever they wish, but it just isn't my thing."

"I think I can see where you're coming from. You know what the chantry says about the Maker, but I hear him in the wind and the waves, feel him in the sunlight. They say He is gone, but it is not so." Leliana looked towards sky, remaining like that for several seconds. It seems even one of the Chantry's own was not exempt from the smug sense of superiority of her fellows. "Tell me, what should I believe, what I feel in my heart or what others tell me?"

"Go with your heart. No question about it. Believe what feels right to you, Leliana."

"Thank you. It's nice to find someone who agrees. I know what I know, and no one will make it untrue."

At least she won't have to worry about Leliana insisting she turn to the Maker. The girl wasn't nearly as preachy as she had feared. In fact, Ophelia found herself warming up to her. Perhaps her company will even be enjoyable.

The warrior's thoughts were interrupted by loud shuffling nearby. "The two of you are bonding already. How nice." Dorrian yawned, lazily crawling out from his tent.

Leliana jumped to her feet, heading for the tent of her own as fast as she could. "Oh, look at the time! I should be going."

"Wait! Don't leave me here alone with him!" Ophelia sprang after her, but the girl was already out of reach.

"What's up with her? It's almost like she saw an abomination or something." Dorrian rubbed his temple, acting surprised by Leliana's sudden departure.

"She did." Ophelia shook her head, "I'd like to know what was it you said to freak her this bad."

"No idea. Maybe I did come onto her a bit too fast..."

"You think? I thought you weren't into the religious sort anyways."

"I'm sorry, but have you seen her? Those full, plump lips are begging to be tasted by yours truly." Dorrian's emerald eyes gleamed at the thought. They complimented his chocolate skin, sharp cheekbones, and the strong nose rather nicely, offering some air of nobility. Now if only he could start acting like it.

"Why couldn't that darkspawn aim just a little bit higher? It would have saved me a world of frustration."

"Hah, you need me. I'm good at what I do. Very good in fact," he grinned as a strong light formed in his palm. Always so overconfident, so sleazy, so... so... "Face it honey, you can't get a mage like me just anywhere."

Aggravating. Something about his mere presence disquieted Ophelia. She was kicking herself for even allowing him to come along, although the mage did nothing wrong. Yet.

"I overheard the two of you talking. So, you girls are all buddy buddy now, eh?"

"None of your business," she barked.

"Ah, but curiosity is a weakness of mine. Besides, any knowledge you can provide me with about our lovely redhead is useful." Dorrian leaned towards the warrior, punching her playfully in the arm. "Come on, tell me."

Ophelia tensed her brows, "Drop it or I'll drop you."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your smallclothes in a twist." He chuckled, pointing towards the nearby woods with his thumb, "I'm off to drain the sea serpent."

"Just go." Ophelia exhaled exasperatedly.

Dorrian bowed, all the while keeping his eyes on the woman. "As you wish, my lady."

A long bath. That's what she needed. Preferably with a good brush to scrub all that dirt off her body. Pigs, even those who rolled in the mud all day, seemed cleaner in comparison to herself. Dorrian's constant glares did not help in the least. Poor Circle girls. To suffer under his gaze day in and day out was a terrible punishment in addition to the templars.

Did she feel glad when Dorrian finally disappeared in the shadows beneath the widespread branches. If no one else decides to grate on her nerves the rest of the day might not be so bad after all. Her eyelids slid down slowly and her breaths relaxed. Despite initially against the idea of sleep for fear of more nightmares, there weren't any alternatives. Ophelia felt like a wreck. It was as if someone had strapped weights to her limbs. Once the sun is up, it'll be a day-long trek to the arling and she couldn't afford to waste time by slowing her companions down. Tent time it was.

Elsewhere, Dorrian hopped over a fallen tree, freezing still once he landed on the soft, mossy earth. He swore the sounds came from this direction. Someone or something was moving around in the woods, spying on the camp. The loud rustling of unknown origin was to blame for the urine stains on his robes. First that crazy woman made him her personal handkerchief and now this. Whatever prowled these woods will pay dearly for that. Unless it was a dragon. Confronting dragons isn't the healthiest thing to do. Or the smartest.

The mage stood on his tiptoes, attempting to spot any movement in the distance. It was too dark for that and lighting up a flame would draw unwanted attention. Dorrian scratched his beard in thought, then leant low behind a wide tree trunk. He'll just have to wait for his target to make the first move. The task was made none easier by the maddening silence. The sort of silence he couldn't stand back in the Circle.

It took several minutes for the rustling to begin anew. Lighting up with excitement, Dorrian kept low, sneaking towards the noise. The being must have either heard or spotted him because the rustling has become louder and more frantic. Not wasting any time, Dorrian flew to his feet, giving chase.

Dorrian saw a mass of white hair or fur from the corner of his eye. No way will he let it disappear in the shadows after the grave sin it committed against him. Gathering up magical energy in his hand, Dorrian hurled a wave of telekinetic force at the fugitive. The first attack missed. Dorrian muttered curses under his breath, but pressed on. The next wave hit it's target dead center. It slid on the ground a fair distance, not letting out even a whimper.

"Gotcha!"

* * *

><p>Nearly two hours passed since the mage left. The rays of the sun came dazzling trough the leaves, illuminating the campsite. Everyone was already up and about, preparing for their departure. Tents were down and bags were packed. Ophelia was pacing impatiently around the ashes of the wood. What took him so long? Was he apprehended by the templars or did he simply trip over a root of a tree and break his neck? One was as likely as the other.<p>

Leliana's and Rabbit's heads followed the Warden in unison. "Maybe one of us should go look for him," the redhead said with worry.

"I won't risk losing anymore time just because the fool got lost in three pines. We leave if he doesn't show in ten minutes time. That's final." Ophelia countered resolutely.

Sten readjusted his gauntlets, grim as ever. The armor Bodahn supplied him with was a tad bit small. Qunari aren't a frequent visitors of Ferelden after all. "The _bas_ is right. She has to do what benefits the rest, even if it means the sacrifice of one."

Leliana's objections were drowned out by the fierce mabari barks. Rabbit instantly leapt up and ran in the direction of the trees, slithering tongue trailing behind him. Dorrian came stumbling out of the woods, sweaty, dirty, and with a few scrapes on his face. The robes he wore were gone, revealing a rather well built body for a mage, covered in a layer of chest hair. Dorrian Amell wasn't too bad of an eye candy if he could just shut up for five minutes.

The missing robes were soon spotted, being dragged or more precisely, used to drag something along the ground behind the mage. Whatever was imprisoned within them certainly was no human. It appeared an animal, though what kind, Ophelia was unable to discern, due to it being completely entrapped in Chasind skins.

Dorrian passed by the confused spectators without a word. It was upon reaching Alistair, who sat on a log, polishing his shield, did Dorrian finally speak.

"Morning."

"Likewise," the templar responded, unable to think of a reason why Dorrian would approach him. The two weren't exactly at the best of terms since they met. Not being able to stop rambling on how the presence of two apostates in their party is a risk left him at no one's good side, even Ophelia's.

"Say hello to your little friend!" announced the mage, jerking the robes forward and releasing his hold.

Ophelia expected many things from that man, but a live sheep rolling out from his robes was not one of them. Upon landing on a grassy patch of land, it bleated in terror, unable to flee, for vines bound it's limbs tightly together. Alistair, as in the case of nearly every other person, was dumbfounded. Sten, on the other hand, was as usually, unamused. The greatest surprise came from Morrigan, whose repressed chuckle exploded into a full on hysteric laughter. Everyone set their sights on the witch, who silenced her laugh almost immediately. They continued to stare at her for a moment, speechless.

"What?" Morrigan shot at Alistair, who was at a loss of words, his mouth wide open. "'Twill not be spoken off." she stated in a final tone when he readied to say something.

Ophelia didn't know what to make of it herself. As amusing as Morrigan's response was, there was the matter of the creature. "Did you steal this sheep, Amell?"

"Steal is such an ugly word, my dear. I prefer 'obtained trough the use of creative methods'."

The Warden folded her arms, looking as cross as she could be. If an army of pitchfork-wielding farmers arrive hot on his heels, she will kill him before any of the peasants have the chance.

"And no, I did not steal fuzzy-ball there." Dorrian rolled his eyes at the accusations, "Sucker must have been separated from his herd and ended up in the forest somehow. Here I thought I might get some appreciation for bringing us fresh dinner, but _no_, Dorrian is a no good thief."

Ophelia sighed, not wishing to argue. She was tired, and this certainly wouldn't make her feel better. "Enough. Just drop it in Bodahn's cart and get your junk together. We should have left already."

"Aye aye."

Dorrian bent down to pick up the sheep, whose trembling orbs were as if ready to burst had he touched it, when movement in the distance caught his attention. At first he wondered whether it was his mind playing tricks after the earlier experience, but the sounds persisted. Ophelia heard it too, frantically trying to locate the exact direction.

"Amell, did anyone follow you?" she questioned, a hint of anger clear in her voice.

"Um... no?"

Just then, a snap of a branch echoed somewhere within the woods, causing Dorrian to let out a quiet, embarrassed chuckle.

"Um.. yes?"

Sten drew his greatsword without a second thought, dropping into a defensive stance. Ophelia followed in suit, urging the rest of her companions to form a circle around the cart and ordering the dwarves to stay put inside. Leliana was behind her, arrows at the ready, looking out for any movement. Dorrian was paired up with Sten, and none too happy about it. He heard of what the Qunari do to their mages, and the less time he spent under the watch of the towering bronze giant, the better.

The witch and the templar stood side by side once again. Alistair insisted it were the darkspawn. Quite the lot of them. Ophelia's senses were yet to be as developed as his, but she was not about to doubt her fellow Warden.

While awaiting the inevitable assault, she turned her head towards the mage, drawing his attention with a whistle.

"Yeah?" he responded, his fingers twitching with excitement. If there was anything he loved more than women, it was showing off his magical prowess, and combat provided plenty of opportunity.

"That sheep better taste like a slice of heaven, or so help me, you'll be the one roasting over the flames."


End file.
